she got pushed.”
The thing is, that is EXACTLY what I’d been thinking.
But I’d also been thinking that this sounded…well, too nuts ever to mention out loud.
“Don’t try to deny it,” Cooper says. “I know that’s what you’re thinking. It’s written all over your face.”
It’s a relief to burst out with, “Girls don’t elevator surf, Coop. They just don’t. I mean, maybe in other cities, but not here, at New York College. And this girl—Elizabeth—she was preppie!”
It’s Cooper’s turn to blink. “Excuse me?”
“Preppie,” I say. “You know. Clean-cut. Preppie girls don’t elevator surf. And let’s say that they did. I mean, they just LEFT her there. Who would do that, to a friend?”
“Kids,” Cooper says, with a shrug.
“They aren’t kids,” I insist. “They’re eighteen years old.”
Cooper shrugs. “Eighteen’s still a kid in my book,” he says. “But let’s say you’re right, and she was too, um, preppie to be elevator surfing. Can you think of anyone who’d have a reason to want to push her down an elevator shaft…providing they could figure out how to do this in the first place?”
“The only thing in her file,” I say, “is that her mom called and asked her to restrict her guest sign-in privileges to girls only.”
“Why?” Cooper wants to know. “She got an abusive ex-boyfriend the mom wanted PNG’d?”
A PNG, also known as a persona non grata memo, is issued to the dorm security guards whenever a resident—or her parents, or a staff member—requests that a certain individual be denied entry to the building. Since you have to show a student or staff ID, driver’s license, or passport to be let into the hall, the guards can easily deny entry to anyone on the PNG list. Once, my first week, the student workers issued a fake PNG against me. As a joke, they said.
I bet they never did that to Justine.
Also, I can’t believe Cooper has been paying such close attention to my ramblings about my crazy job at Fischer Hall that he even remembers what a PNG is.
“No,” I say, flushing a little. “No boyfriend mentioned.”
“Doesn’t mean there isn’t one. The kids have to sign guests in, right?” Cooper asks. “Did anyone check to see if Elizabeth had a boyfriend—maybe one Mom doesn’t know about—over last night?”
I shake my head, not taking my gaze off the back of Fischer Hall, which is glowing red in the rays from the setting sun.
“She had a roommate,” I explain. “She’s not going to be having some guy spend the night with a roommate right there in the bed across the room.”
“Because preppie girls don’t do things like that?”
I squirm a little uncomfortably. “Well…they don’t.”
Cooper shrugs. “Roommate could’ve stayed the night with someone else.”
I hadn’t thought of this. “I’ll check the sign-in logs,” I say. “It can’t hurt.”
“You mean,” Cooper says, “you’ll tell the police to check the sign-in logs.”
“Police?” I am startled. “You think the police are going to get involved?”
“Probably,” is Cooper’s mild reply. “If they harbor the same ‘preppie girls don’t do that’ suspicions you seem to.”
I make a face at him just as the doorbell rings and we hear Jordan bellow, “Heather! Come on, Heather! Open up!”
Cooper doesn’t even turn his head in the direction of the front door.
“His devotion to you is touching,” Cooper remarks.
“It’s got nothing to do with me,” I explain. “He’s just trying to annoy you. You know, get you to throw me out. He won’t be happy until I’m living in a cardboard box on the median of Houston Street.”
“Sounds like it’s over between you two, all right,” Cooper says, wryly.
“It’s not that . He doesn’t still like me. He just wants to punish me for leaving him.”
“Or,” Cooper says, “for having the guts to do your own thing. Which is something he’ll never have.”
“Good point.”
Cooper’s
The thing is, that is EXACTLY what I’d been thinking.
But I’d also been thinking that this sounded…well, too nuts ever to mention out loud.
“Don’t try to deny it,” Cooper says. “I know that’s what you’re thinking. It’s written all over your face.”
It’s a relief to burst out with, “Girls don’t elevator surf, Coop. They just don’t. I mean, maybe in other cities, but not here, at New York College. And this girl—Elizabeth—she was preppie!”
It’s Cooper’s turn to blink. “Excuse me?”
“Preppie,” I say. “You know. Clean-cut. Preppie girls don’t elevator surf. And let’s say that they did. I mean, they just LEFT her there. Who would do that, to a friend?”
“Kids,” Cooper says, with a shrug.
“They aren’t kids,” I insist. “They’re eighteen years old.”
Cooper shrugs. “Eighteen’s still a kid in my book,” he says. “But let’s say you’re right, and she was too, um, preppie to be elevator surfing. Can you think of anyone who’d have a reason to want to push her down an elevator shaft…providing they could figure out how to do this in the first place?”
“The only thing in her file,” I say, “is that her mom called and asked her to restrict her guest sign-in privileges to girls only.”
“Why?” Cooper wants to know. “She got an abusive ex-boyfriend the mom wanted PNG’d?”
A PNG, also known as a persona non grata memo, is issued to the dorm security guards whenever a resident—or her parents, or a staff member—requests that a certain individual be denied entry to the building. Since you have to show a student or staff ID, driver’s license, or passport to be let into the hall, the guards can easily deny entry to anyone on the PNG list. Once, my first week, the student workers issued a fake PNG against me. As a joke, they said.
I bet they never did that to Justine.
Also, I can’t believe Cooper has been paying such close attention to my ramblings about my crazy job at Fischer Hall that he even remembers what a PNG is.
“No,” I say, flushing a little. “No boyfriend mentioned.”
“Doesn’t mean there isn’t one. The kids have to sign guests in, right?” Cooper asks. “Did anyone check to see if Elizabeth had a boyfriend—maybe one Mom doesn’t know about—over last night?”
I shake my head, not taking my gaze off the back of Fischer Hall, which is glowing red in the rays from the setting sun.
“She had a roommate,” I explain. “She’s not going to be having some guy spend the night with a roommate right there in the bed across the room.”
“Because preppie girls don’t do things like that?”
I squirm a little uncomfortably. “Well…they don’t.”
Cooper shrugs. “Roommate could’ve stayed the night with someone else.”
I hadn’t thought of this. “I’ll check the sign-in logs,” I say. “It can’t hurt.”
“You mean,” Cooper says, “you’ll tell the police to check the sign-in logs.”
“Police?” I am startled. “You think the police are going to get involved?”
“Probably,” is Cooper’s mild reply. “If they harbor the same ‘preppie girls don’t do that’ suspicions you seem to.”
I make a face at him just as the doorbell rings and we hear Jordan bellow, “Heather! Come on, Heather! Open up!”
Cooper doesn’t even turn his head in the direction of the front door.
“His devotion to you is touching,” Cooper remarks.
“It’s got nothing to do with me,” I explain. “He’s just trying to annoy you. You know, get you to throw me out. He won’t be happy until I’m living in a cardboard box on the median of Houston Street.”
“Sounds like it’s over between you two, all right,” Cooper says, wryly.
“It’s not that . He doesn’t still like me. He just wants to punish me for leaving him.”
“Or,” Cooper says, “for having the guts to do your own thing. Which is something he’ll never have.”
“Good point.”
Cooper’s
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